"To think that my own little niece would tell tales like that, and thus let out the secret. What chance have I now, of making them think that I was really very shy about riding with such a large party of girls?"

Shouts of laughter greeted this speech, and Uncle Harry waited until it had subsided, then he said:

"Oh, well, if no one believes that I am shy or diffident, it's waste of time to try to appear so, so I shall not try. Instead, I shall be very bold. Come, dears, let me help you in!"

And amid shouts of laughter from the children, he lifted each high in air, and placed her in the barge, thus saving her the trouble of mounting the steps.

Then taking his seat in the middle of the laughing, chattering little party, he called to the driver to start.

The long whip cracked, Jack Tiverton, from the piazza, blew loudly on a tin trumpet, and they were off over the road, the happiest party that ever filled a barge.

Uncle Harry told some amusing stories, then, led by his fine voice, they sang some gay little songs, and before they dreamed that they had arrived at the fair, the driver shouted:

"Here we are!" and sure enough, they had reached the fair grounds.

"Why, I didn't suppose we were more than half-way here," said Dorothy, "and the reason is that the ride has been so jolly."

"That's just it," agreed Nancy.

"The reason I enjoyed the ride," said Uncle Harry, "is because I was so charmed with my little guests."

"And the reason why we had such a fine ride," said Flossie, "is because we had the best man in the world taking care of us."

Uncle Harry bowed low.

"This must be a wedding party, if I'm the 'best man,'" he said with a laugh, "so we'll not fuss because there's no musician to play a march for us, but we'll play you are all bridesmaids, and we'll hurry right along. The entrance is this way, I think, and under that evergreen arch."

A large tent had been pitched for the display of the various wares and numerous attractions; a smaller tent near it serving as fortune teller's booth.

"We'll coax Uncle Harry to have his fortune told," whispered Flossie to Dorothy, when, to their great surprise, he said:

"Oh, Flossie, you little witch! Uncle Harry heard what you said, and not only is he going to have his fortune told, but he's going to make every one of you little girls have yours told, also!"



CHAPTER VIII

AT THE FAIR

THE fair proved a great delight to the children. They had all been to fine fairs patronized by fashionable matrons, whose names were quite enough to insure success, but the country fair was an absolute novelty.

At the large city fairs, merry debutantes graced the booths, and sold flowers, or tickets for the various games of chance.

Here in the mountain village all was different, and the novelty gave greater interest.

Farmers' daughters were in the booths, and sold huge bouquets of old-fashioned garden flowers, homemade candy, and honey, while one rosy-cheeked lass dispensed sweet cider, or sweet apples, according to the preference of her customer.

Uncle Harry purchased a huge stalk of hollyhocks for each of his guests, but for himself he chose an enormous sunflower which he insisted looked fine in his buttonhole.

There was music, if it could be called music, furnished by the local band.

Uncle Harry said he had never seen such independent people as those musicians were. He declared that the music sounded, to him, as if each man commenced to play when he chose, and stopped when he got ready, regardless of what the other players were doing.

"Oh, I do believe that is the way they play!" cried Dorothy, laughing.

"Of course it is," cried Uncle Harry, "and a great deal of bother it saves, for no one has to direct them; they do not know that they are making discord, and thus they play and play with all their might, and are absolutely care-free and happy."

There were heaps of giant pumpkins, and more red and yellow ears of corn than they had ever seen before, while everywhere was laughter, and friendly gossip, and chatter, that made the fair a jolly place in which to roam about.

The children were determined to see every object in the big tent, and while some were interested in one thing, others wished to see something else, so they decided to divide into two groups.

One half of the little party turned to the right intent upon seeing some gaudy patchwork quilts, while the others turned to the left declaring their intention of investing all their pennies in the "fish-pond."

There were so many things to see on the way, that it was a long time before they met, as they had agreed, at the entrance.

Somewhere on the way they had missed Uncle Harry, and they could not imagine where he had gone.

It happened that Uncle Harry had seen a very small girl crying, and his first thought was to help her, and thus dry her tears.

Upon questioning her, he found that the wee little maid had, by accident, knocked a small doll from one of the tables, and had been roundly scolded.

"That pretty girl with the black eyes says I did it a-purpose, but I didn't," she cried, "I wanted to see it, and I just touched it, and it tumbled off the table."

Her tears fell afresh, and in place of a handkerchief, she drew up her blue-checked apron, and hid her face in it.

"Look up, little girl," Uncle Harry said, and his voice sounded so kindly, that she at once peeped at him through her tears.

"Which is the table where all this happened?"

"That one," said the child, "and the big girl is looking at me now."

"Then give me your hand, and, just for fun, we'll go and look at her."

A moment she hesitated.

"Come," he said, and with a sunny smile, the little girl placed her hand in his, and the big, handsome man with the wee country lass approached the table together.

"I'll lift you up so you can see nicely," he said. "Now, which was the doll that fell from the table?"

Before the child could reply, the girl spoke sharply.

"'Twas that one, sir, and her meddlesome fingers,—"

"Never mind about that," said Uncle Harry, then turning to the child he said:

"Did you like that one best, or is that larger one finer?"

"That large one is the loveliest. I didn't ever see one so fine as that."

"We'll have that one, then," he said, offering a bill to the astonished salesgirl.

"There, little girl, she's yours," he said, as he placed the big doll in her arms.

"I can hold her a little while?" she asked, eagerly.

"You can hold her always, if you want to," he said gently, "I bought her for you."

Rapturously she clasped the gift in her arms.

"Oh, I love you, because you are good," she cried.

"Then tell me your name," he said.

"I'm Lois Ann Ferguson," chirped the little girl, "and father is Sandy Ferguson. Oh, there he is now. He's to play the pipes."

She ran toward a sturdy man dressed in Highland costume, and carrying the bagpipes under his arm.

Mr. Ferguson glanced at her flushed cheeks, saw the gorgeous doll that she flourished before his astonished eyes, and finally understood that the tall, handsome stranger had bestowed it upon his wee daughter, as a gift.

He took her little hand, and hurried forward, saying:

"I dinna ken why he should dae it for my wee lassie.

"I wad gladly thank ye, sir," he said, "but I'm lost in wonder that ye made wee Lois sae blithe an' gay wi' the braw gift."

"She's a dear little lass," said Uncle Harry, "and when I found her crying, I knew that a fine new doll would dry her tears. Don't bother to thank me. I made myself happy, when I comforted her."

"I wish there were mair like ye," said Sandy Ferguson, "an' some day when ye're older, an' ha' a wee daughter of yer ain,—"

"I have a wife and baby girl now," was the quick reply, "and they are my dearest possessions."

"An' I thought ye a braw, bonny laddie, wi' yer fair hair an' blue een! Weel, weel, ye dinna hae tae live 'til ye're auld before ye ken tae dae a kindly act," Sandy Ferguson replied, "an' later when I play the pipes, an' Lois dances, she shall make her first bow tae her new friend."

"Oh, Uncle Harry, did you buy the new doll for the little girl?"

It was little Flossie, who, after having searched every corner of the tent, had found him talking to the Scotchman and his little girl.

"Is he your own uncle?" little Lois asked, looking up into Flossie's lovely face.

"Oh, yes," said Flossie, "and he's the best uncle in the world."

"I know he must be," said the little girl. "See how good he was to me."

They turned to join the rest of their party, and little Lois looked over her shoulder, with one hand held fast in her father's, while with the other she tightly clasped the precious doll.

"I saw the notice near the entrance when we came in, that a Scotch farmer would play, and his little daughter would dance," said Uncle Harry, "but that child is not much more than a baby. She cannot be more than four. It will be amusing to see her dance, and Nancy Ferris will enjoy it most of all."

They found the others reading the notice of which they had been talking, and they were delighted when they heard what a very little girl it was who was to dance.

They had a lunch served by girls dressed as dairy maids, and it was just such a lunch as might have been enjoyed at a farmhouse.

The long table spread with its white cloth, and set with blue and white dishes, was decorated by a garland of small sunflowers that lay upon the cloth, down the centre, and the entire length of the table.

There were plates heaped with biscuit, there were dishes of both wild and cultivated strawberries, and delicious cream to be eaten with them, there were sandwiches and little cakes, honey enough to tempt the bees to the feast, and the children thought it finer than a hotel dinner. How they laughed, and chattered, as they enjoyed the spread!

Uncle Harry was in his sunniest mood, and told stories and jokes that kept them amused, and seemed to be the gayest member of the party.

"Tell us a story about when you were a little boy," said Flossie.

"My small niece thinks I'm nothing but a big boy now!" he said.

"Well, the big Scotchman thought you were only a lad. I heard him say so," said Flossie.

"When you were a boy were you ever naughty, real naughty?" Floretta asked.

She had been very quiet, and all were surprised at her question.

"Once upon a time, when I was little," said Uncle Harry, "I was very, very fond of good things, but the one thing that I liked better than anything else was strawberry jam.

"I was always allowed to have it, but I felt sure that it would taste even nicer if I had more of it at a time, and still finer if I could have a long handled spoon, and eat it right from the jar.

"I used often to think how fine it would be if I, some day, could have the chance to eat it that way, but I never could get even very near the jar.

"One day the opportunity came. My sister and I were in the nursery, and the maid had been down-stairs for a long time.

"The rest of the family were away, and we were to have our tea in the nursery, as usual, only, as we had had to remain at home, we were to have an extra treat.

"Among other good things, we were to have strawberry jam.

"My sister, that is Flossie's mamma, was a little older than I, and she was always trying to give me lessons in good behavior.

"'Now, Harry,' she said, 'while nurse is down-stairs, we might commence to set our table.'

"'There isn't anything here to set it with but the tablecloth and the jam,' I said, 'but you're a girl, so you know how to put the cloth on, and I'll bring the jam.'"

"I guess Uncle Harry was so fond of the jam, that he liked even to carry the jar," said Flossie.

"We wondered why the nurse stayed so long down-stairs," continued Uncle Harry, "and I told my sister that I was tired of waiting for tea, and I said I'd taste of the jam, if only I had a long handled spoon.

"'Why, Harry,' she answered in disgust, 'I wouldn't think you'd be so naughty, but,—if you really want to taste it, here's the spoon beside the jar.'"

"And did you?" questioned Dorothy.

"Well, yes, I have to admit that I did. In truth, I tasted and tasted until my sister cried:

"'Why, Harry, you naughty boy! When you get done tasting, there won't be any left!'

"'You won't care, because you wouldn't be so naughty as to taste it!' I said.

"'Oh, wouldn't I?' she cried. 'Well, you just let me take that spoon, and you'll see!'

"Well, a funny mix-up followed, in which we each tried to get possession of the spoon and the jam. We were laughing while we struggled for it, but at last, one of us slipped, and fell, dragging the other down; the jar of jam tipped over, and her white frock, my gray jacket and trousers, and even my long, yellow curls became smeared with the jam.

"Nurse opened the door, and screamed with terror, for the red jam looked as if we had been terribly hurt, and it was some time before we could convince her that we were not cut or bruised, but only very sticky!

"Then came the scolding, and my sister tried to screen me.

"'Harry couldn't help tasting it, he's so fond of jam,' she said.

"'Well, he's got a good share of it, inside and out,' said nurse, grimly.

"'She's got as much as I have,' I said, 'just look at her frock!'

"Of course our clothes were changed, and the jam cleaned from the polished floor, but we had our tea without jam.

"Nurse said we could eat our biscuits with the memory of the jam we had already enjoyed."

"Oh, Uncle Harry," cried Flossie, "I wish, even though you were naughty, she'd let you have more jam. She didn't know how good you'd be when you grew up."

"I still am fond of jam!" he said, and the children laughed to see him pour honey over his berries that already were covered with sugar.

"You like anything that's sweet!" said Dorothy, "whether it's jam, or sugar, or honey,—"

"Or little girls," said Uncle Harry. "You notice, I made this party all little girls, and I'm having a lovely time."

"So are we," laughed Dorothy.

"And he says 'lovely' just as we do," said Nancy, "he does it to make us laugh."

"Then why don't you laugh?" said Uncle Harry, and they did laugh, every member of the party, and laughed because they could not help it.

And when the merry feast was over, they hastened to the small tent where the old gypsy was telling fortunes.

Each had intended to have her fortune told, and thus learn what the future held for her.

To their great surprise, she flatly refused to tell any child's fortune, saying that she would only foretell events for "grown ups." The little girls were rather afraid of her, but Uncle Harry boldly offered his hand, saying:

"Am I big enough to hear my fortune?"

"No nonsense, young lad," she said, while the children dared not laugh. She bent over his palm for a moment, then she solemnly said:

"You're a brave lad, and you need to be for you will fall in love with a girl who'll have red hair, and the temper that usually goes with it."

"O dear!" sighed Uncle Harry.

"Don't worry, young man," said the old gypsy, "because it will be some months before you marry."

"Indeed," said Uncle Harry, "and what shall I do if the girl proves to have the temper you prophesy? Shall I try to calm her by holding her under a pump, or would you advise tying her until she feels less fiery?"

"Young man, this is no laughing matter," was the sharp reply.

"Guess it isn't!" said Uncle Harry. "I've seldom been so discouraged. Here am I, a man who has a lovely wife and baby girl, and yet I've got to marry a red-haired girl, with a temper like chain lightning! Who was ever in a worse fix?"

The old gypsy flew into a rage. "You're poking fun at me!" she cried.

"There! There! The fun was worth that!" he cried, laying a handful of small coins on the table before her.

In her eagerness to count the money, she forgot her wrath, and they hastened from the tent, where, safely outside, they were free to laugh as much as they chose.

As they re-entered the large tent, they saw that near the centre, a space had been cleared, and there was a crowd of people waiting, as if expecting some attraction to be exhibited.

They had not long to wait, for almost immediately the Scotch piper appeared, and tightly clasping her precious new doll in her arms was wee Lois, dressed in Highland costume.

Placing her doll on a table, and making sure that it was safe, she ran forward, courtesied first to Uncle Harry, as she had promised, and then, to the music of the pipes, the wee lassie did the "Highland Fling."

She was such a round, dimpled little girl, one would never have dreamed that she could dance with such infantile grace.

And when she had finished, with another courtesy, they crowded around her, and it was Nancy who most generously praised her. Dear little Nancy, who danced like a fairy, never had a jealous thought in her loving heart!

It was Uncle Harry who caught little Lois, and lifted her so that he could look into her eyes.

"I want my dolly, now," she cried, anxious lest it be lost or stolen. Dorothy brought the doll, and the child clasped it to her breast.

"My wee lassie said she wisht she had a gift tae gi' ye," said Sandy.

"I have a dear little girl of my own, and I prize her baby kisses," said Uncle Harry. "Will you give me one, little Lois?"

She clasped her arms around his neck, and kissed him softly.

"Best man next to father," she said.



CHAPTER IX

FLOSSIE'S LETTER

THE children said "good-by" to little Lois, and as her father carried her away, she waved her hand to them.

"Wasn't she cunning?" said Dorothy.

"She was very sweet," said Nancy, "and how well she did her little dance!"

"She didn't dance half as fine as you do, Nancy Ferris," said Floretta. "You know that."

"Oh, but I was trained for dancing," said Nancy, "and, beside, she was very little to dance so cleverly."

Floretta made no reply, but she thought of what Nancy had said.

"Trained for dancing. She said she was trained to dance. I wonder where? I wish I knew, but I didn't quite dare to ask her."

Once more they walked around the big tent, and Uncle Harry purchased a gift for each to carry home as a souvenir.

There were little baskets that the gypsies had woven, and fancy boxes filled with woodland plants. The boxes were made from birch bark, and were very dainty.

These the children prized, and lovingly they thanked him for the pretty gifts.

At the candy table he purchased enough of the homemade bonbons to fill the baskets, and then they left the tent to start on the homeward trip.

The barge was waiting for them, and they clambered in, tired, but very happy.

"This is the nicest fair I ever went to," said Dorothy, "and I've had so many good things that I'm going to save my basket of candy until to-morrow."

"So am I," cried all the others.

"And so am I," said Uncle Harry, as he held up a huge basket filled with all kinds of candy.

How they laughed, and accused him of having a "sweet-tooth."

"Now, just a moment!" he cried, as he held up his finger for silence, "I'm taking this big basket home to treat the big ladies with. I took the little ladies with me, but I've not forgotten the big ladies that I left at the hotel."

"Because you don't ever forget any one," said Flossie, and the others cried:

"That's it! Just it! He does nice things for every one."

"Oh, spare my blushes," said Uncle Harry, but it was easy to see that their affection for him pleased him.

The ride home seemed shorter than the trip to the fair.

They joined in singing the merry songs that his fine voice led, and the horses, knowing that they were on the homeward trip, jogged along at a better pace than when they had started out.

Uncle Harry had found some bells, and fastened them to their harnesses, and they made a jingling accompaniment to the merry voices.

And when the barge drew up at the Cleverton, Uncle Harry, with elaborate courtesy, handed each young lady down, bowing low, and thanking her for the honor she had conferred upon him by permitting him to take her to the fair.

"Oh, you do truly know we have to thank you for giving us such a lovely day!" said Dorothy.

"But think how happy I have been," he said, and although his blue eyes were laughing, they knew that he meant it.

"Oh, mamma, we had the finest time," cried Dorothy, "and see the fine basket of candy and the pretty birch bark box! See the little ferns growing in it. Isn't he dear?"

"He surely is charming," said Mrs. Dainty. "His generous, sunny nature makes every one love him, and I believe he values the love of his friends more than most things."

"He has been gay, and full of fun all day," said Nancy, "and it will take a long time to tell you all the pleasant things he did for us. I do wish you and Aunt Charlotte could have been there when he had his fortune told."

"And he couldn't have been any nicer to us if we'd been tall ladies," said Floretta.

"I hope every one of you little friends were real little ladies, thus rewarding him for his kindness," Aunt Charlotte said, gently.

"Oh, we were," said Nancy, "not a single one of us did anything that could trouble him."

"There were a number of little girls who only came here last week, so we weren't much acquainted with them, but they were all very nice, and he said he had as fine a time as we did," said Dorothy.

She climbed into a large hammock, and with Nancy beside her, sat swinging, and thinking of the day that had been so delightfully spent.

Mrs. Fenton came out upon the piazza, and, instead of sitting down, seemed to be looking for something.

"Can I help you?" said Nancy, slipping from the hammock, and hastening toward her.

"I've mislaid my glasses," she said, "and I can't find them."

She did not thank Nancy for so kindly offering to help her, but Nancy seemed not to notice that. She peeped under chairs, lifted their cushions, and even looked between folds of newspapers that lay near at hand, but the glasses were not in sight.

"How trying!" said Mrs. Fenton, "I have some letters that I wish to read, and I can't read them until my glasses are found."

"Did you use them anywhere but just here?" Nancy asked.

Mrs. Fenton stood for a moment thinking.

"Seems to me I did have them in the dining-room," she said.

"I'll go and ask the waitresses if they have seen them," said Nancy, as she ran toward the hall.

She paused in the doorway, amazed at what she saw.

Floretta, with a pair of eyeglasses upon her small nose, was walking up and down the room, as nearly as possible, in Mrs. Fenton's manner, and exactly imitating her voice, while a group of waitresses, the cook, and two kitchen maids laughed, and applauded her.

She cared not who composed her audience, so long as she obtained applause. Floretta was, evidently, quite herself once more!

"Oh, Floretta!" cried Nancy, "you mustn't, truly you mustn't. Give me the glasses. Mrs. Fenton is looking everywhere for them!"

"Well, I shan't give them to you!" said Floretta, rudely. "You aren't Mrs. Fenton."

"But I've been helping her to hunt for them. She has some letters she wants to read, and she can't till she has her glasses," insisted Nancy.

"Then let her come for them!" cried Floretta, when a quiet voice spoke.

"Very well, I have come for them," it said, and there in the doorway stood Mrs. Fenton.

The silly maids who had laughed so loudly, now hastily disappeared in the kitchen.

Floretta dropped the glasses upon the table, and then, wholly ashamed, crawled under it, where Mrs. Fenton's sharp eyes might not look at her.

Mrs. Fenton took the glasses, and without another word, swept from the room.

Nancy, waiting in the hall, crept softly toward her, and gently laid her hand on the lady's arm.

"I'm so sorry she did that. I wish I could have got the glasses from her, and brought them to you before you came to find them. Then you needn't have known how naughty,—" Nancy caught her breath.

"Never mind that, Nancy. Remember, as I shall, that you were not the naughty, disgusting child," said Mrs. Fenton, and she turned, with her letters and glasses in her hand, and went up the long stairway to her room.

It was nearly time to dress for dinner, which was always served promptly at six.

Mrs. Dainty with Dorothy, and Aunt Charlotte with Nancy hastened to their rooms, to freshen their toilettes, and Nancy realized that there would not be time to tell Aunt Charlotte all about the unpleasant happening.

"I've something to tell you, but I'll have to wait till we've plenty of time," she said.

Aunt Charlotte, tying the soft, blue ribbon into the brown curls, looked into the mirror before which they were standing, and smiled at the thoughtful face.

"Will it keep until then, dear?" she asked.

"Oh, yes," said Nancy, "I only tell it to you because I love to tell you everything."

"Dear child," said Aunt Charlotte, "I bless the day that you, as a little waif, were taken in by Mrs. Dainty, and that I was asked to come and care for you. I could not love you more if you were my own little girl."

"I never saw my own mamma; she died when I was a baby," said Nancy, "so, because you love me, you seem like my very own."

Gentle Aunt Charlotte's eyes were wet with happy tears, as she hooked the pretty, white muslin frock, with its slip of light blue, and tied the soft blue belt.

"Your shoes must be changed, Nancy," she said. "You know how particular Mrs. Dainty is about the matter of shoes and stockings. They must match the frock."

"Oh, yes," said Nancy, "and with this one she said: 'Wear blue stockings and bronze slippers,' so I will."

She found the blue hose and the pretty bronze slippers, then, with elfin grace, she caught the edge of her skirt, and with rosy, bare feet, tripped across the floor in a graceful, gliding step, crying:

"Look, Aunt Charlotte, look! This pretty step Bonfanti taught me."

Aunt Charlotte did look, and as she watched the pretty child, and saw her joy in dancing, she marvelled that little Nancy could smile as she danced, remembering all that she had been taught, while apparently forgetting all the unhappy months upon the stage.

She thought of poor little Nancy, forced to dance, night after night, to support her old Uncle Steve, who was too lazy to support himself.

She thought of the time that the little pitiful note from Nancy had reached them, and, together, she and Mrs. Dainty had found the child, and brought her safely home.

She did not speak of all this. Nancy's happy little heart should never be reminded of sad days that were past.

Now her life was filled with bright sunshine, the sunshine of love, and it was reflected in her happy face.

A gong rang out a silvery note.

"Oh, my shoes!" cried Nancy, with a peal of merry laughter. "I wanted to show you those pretty steps, and I forgot all about dinner."

It was the work of but a few seconds for Nancy to draw on the light blue hose, and even less time to put on the pretty slippers. She ran to the mirror, and courtesied, took a few tripping steps, smiling at her reflection, and then hastened to the hall to join Dorothy.



"All ready," cried Nancy, springing to her feet, to follow Dorothy.

A pretty pair they made as with arms about each other's waist, they tripped along the hall.

Fair, blue-eyed Dorothy Dainty was very lovely in a pale pink frock with soft frillings of fine lace. Her stockings were of the same shade, and her shoes were white. Mrs. Dainty in dark blue satin, and Aunt Charlotte in pearl color made, with the two children, a pleasing group.

In the lower hall they met Mrs. Paxton with Floretta, the former wearing a gown of purple satin, while Floretta wore a frock of scarlet silk. Mrs. Fenton, passing, on her way to the dining-room, looked sharply at the two groups, and did she look amused when her eyes rested upon Mrs. Paxton, and her small daughter? Dorothy noticed the look, and turned to her mamma.

Mrs. Dainty read the question in Dorothy's eyes, and ever so slightly, shook her head, and they passed into the dining-room.

* * * * *

The next morning, when the mail was distributed, there was great excitement, because every one had so many letters.

"See mine!" cried Flossie Barnet. "Everybody see mine! It looks like boy's writing. See it!"

"If some very young man wrote it, he might not be delighted to have it so freely exhibited, Flossie," said Uncle Harry, with a laugh.

"Oh, why should he care?" she asked in surprise. "Who do you s'pose wrote it? Guess, Uncle Harry!"

"Well, now let me think," said Uncle Harry, covering his eyes with his hand, then peeping through his fingers.

"There's a small boy at home, who glories in the name of Reginald Merton Deane. Open the letter, dear, and if I guessed right, you can give me a prize, and if I'm wrong, I'll give you one."

Flossie studied the address for a moment, then she opened the letter, and laughed with delight.

"I'll have to give you the prize, but why did he think to write to me?"

Dear little Flossie had never seemed aware that small Reginald preferred her to any of his friends. Even when she was so little that she could not pronounce his name, and called him "Weginald," he thought her the dearest of all his playmates. And this was his letter:

"DEAR FLOSSIE:

"I miss you so much that I'm going to write, and tell you all the news.

"Our old dog had a fit yesterday, and my brother got the vet'nary doctor. When he came, he said Carlo hadn't any fit. He was acting just awful. I said 'what makes him tare round so?' an he said maybe I'd tare round sum if I had a fish-bone in my throat! The doctor took it out, and then Carlo was so glad he tore round worsen ever!

"Arabella Corryville is acting worse than Carlo did. You know her Aunt Matilda lives with them, an neether Arabella, or her pa, or her ma dare to do ennything without asking Aunt Matilda first. Well, her aunt has had to go way up to New Hampshur (I guess I didn't spell that rite) and Arabella thinks its just her chanse to act awful. Carlo is real quiet side of Arabella when she acts the way she does now.

"She stays out doors most all the time, and goes just where she pleases.

"Some days she's way down by the stashun until its almost dark.

"You know she's always taking medesin, and carries the bottles in her pockets.

"She carries em now, but she told me she's takin the kind she likes best. Theres two kinds her Aunt Matilda made her take, one tasted horrid, and the other tasted nice. Arabella threw the horrid one away, and ate the nice pills for candy. She told me this morning that her Aunt Matilda is coming home just for one day, and then they're all going up where you, and Dorothy, and Nancy are. I don't believe it, but if she does, and you see her, you needn't give my love to her.

"Your tru friend, "REGINALD."



CHAPTER X

A GIFT OF WILDFLOWERS

OF course, Dorothy and Nancy were greatly interested in the letter, and Uncle Harry said that he was glad that Reginald had thought to say that the fish-bone had been removed from Carlo's throat.

He said it would have seemed quite a trip to take to leave the Cleverton, and go to Merrivale to feel Carlo's pulse, and inquire for his health.

"Now that that bone is removed, I breathe easier," said Uncle Harry, "and so does Carlo!"

"Oh, you wouldn't have gone home just to call on Carlo," said Flossie.

"Well, I don't know," he said, trying to look solemn, "I wouldn't like Carlo to feel neglected, and now I think of it, does Reginald speak of the cat?"

"No," said Flossie, "but when I answer the letter, I'll tell Reginald you're anxious about her."

"I am," said Uncle Harry, "because the last time I saw her, Carlo was barking at her very rudely, and her back was up in a hump like a camel's. Reginald ought to have told us if her back is still up, or whether she has taken the kink out of her spine. We might telephone and ask, instead of worrying."

He rose, and walked toward the hall, whistling as he went, an old nursery song that he used to sing to Flossie.

"The cat came fiddling out of the barn, With a pair of bagpipes under her arm."

How the children laughed!

"Look!" said Flossie, "he's going right toward the telephone, just to make us think that he's truly going to ring up Reginald, and inquire for the cat."

"Who is Arabella?" Floretta asked.

"She lives near us," said Dorothy, "and she used to go to Aunt Charlotte's private school with us."

"Doesn't she now?" asked Floretta.

"No, she left our class, and went to a large school in the city."

"By what the letter says, I'd think she was rather queer," said Floretta.

"Well—" said Dorothy, hesitating, "Arabella is queer."

"Why don't you like to say so?" was the sharp reply.

"Because Dorothy never likes to say anything that isn't kind about any one, but Arabella is queer, so Dorothy won't say she isn't," said Nancy.

It was a few days later that Dorothy was reminded of what Reginald had said in his letter to Flossie.

She was waiting for Nancy to go for a walk, and stooping to pick some of the pretty wildflowers that blossomed everywhere.

She had walked slowly along toward the clump of white birches where, when they had first arrived, they had called, and listened to the echo.

She looked back toward the hotel, but Nancy was not yet in sight, so she seated herself upon the grass, and began to arrange the flowers in a fine bouquet.

She was trying to mix the white blossoms and pink buds so as to show the beauty of each, when a carriage passed, and before she looked up a shrill little voice shouted:

"Dorothy! Dorothy! We're over at the farmhouse just beyond the Merlington. Aunt Matilda wouldn't let pa take us to a hotel. She doesn't approve of hotels. Aunt Matilda says,—"

She was looking back to shout at Dorothy, and doubtless would have given even more particulars, but a firm hand had hastily forced her to turn around, and sit down.

Nancy ran along the path a few moments later, and her eyes were dancing.

"Did you see Arabella?" she asked. "Did you?"

"Yes, just a few moments ago, and she turned around in the carriage and screamed to me," said Dorothy.

"I can guess what she said," laughed Nancy, "because she screamed at me. She told me she was staying at a farmhouse, and said that her Aunt Matilda didn't approve of hotels."

"That is just what she said," said Dorothy, "and she would have said more but some one, I think it was her Aunt Matilda, pulled her back into the carriage."

"Why, that's just the way it was when I saw her. I ran out on to the piazza, and down the steps, and the carriage rolled by, and she twisted round to shout. There was this difference, though," said Nancy. "You were out here alone, and no one would know if you laughed, but when I ran out, our piazza was full of people, and when Arabella shouted, you'd ought to have seen them look.

"Flossie and her Uncle Harry were on the lawn, and as she rode past, he said with a sigh:

"'Arabella, Arabella, If I had my new umbrella,'

and I was wild to know the rest of it, but his wife, who was standing near him, said:

"'Hush, Harry, really you mustn't,' and he only laughed, and said:

"'Oh, mustn't I? Why, when I saw Arabella and her Aunt Matilda, I really felt as if I must!'"

"Let's ask him what the rest of the verse is," said Dorothy.

"I'm wild to hear it," Nancy said, "because the very way he looked made me think that the other lines, whatever they were, would be funny."

She stooped to gather more of the little blossoms to add to Dorothy's bouquet, and then commenced to make a bouquet of her own.

"Arabella will be coming over to see you," she said, a moment later, "and I wonder if it is naughty to say, 'I wish she wouldn't?' Do you think it is?"

"I don't know," said Dorothy, "but I do wish it. I wouldn't, only she is so hard to please. Mamma wishes us to be nice to every one, but, Nancy, you do know that when we try the hardest to please Arabella, we don't please her at all."

"I know it," agreed Nancy, "but perhaps she'll come some time when we are out, and then we won't have to amuse her."

"I'm sure I ought not to say it, but I do wish it would happen that way," said Dorothy.

They had reached the birches, and they paused to wake the echo. What fun it was to hear their shouts repeated.

Again and again they called, and then a droll thing happened. They had called this name and that, and each time the echo, like a voice from the mountain, had repeated it with wonderful distinctness. Then Dorothy, leaning forward, called, loudly:

"Dorothy!"

"What?" came the reply.

She turned, and looked at Nancy. "Dorothy!" she cried, again.

"Dainty!" was the answer, and upon looking toward a little path that was nearly opposite where they were standing, they saw the low bushes move, and faintly they heard a smothered laugh.

Dorothy was laughing now.

"Boys!" she cried, and back came the laughing echo:

"Girls!" and then the boys peeped out a bit too far, and Dorothy saw who had been playing echo.

It was Jack Tiverton and a boy whom he had chosen for a "chum." Jack had not intended so soon to be discovered, and he and his friend disappeared in a little grove, while Dorothy and Nancy continued their walk.

There were sunny paths and bits of woodland that were so near the hotel as to be absolutely safe, where all the summer guests, especially the children, loved to roam at will. Along one of these little paths were sweet little yellow blossoms, and these they gathered to brighten their bouquets.

"Let's have some of these little vines to hang from our bouquets," said Dorothy, and the graceful vines proved to be an added beauty.

When they returned to the Cleverton there were but few people upon the piazza.

Mrs. Dainty and Aunt Charlotte sat talking with Mrs. Vinton, and farther along, Mrs. Fenton sat with an open book upon her lap, although she was not reading.

She often had a book or magazine, but rarely did she read them.

She would sit looking off at the distant mountain-range, the white clouds, or the sunny valley over which those clouds cast floating shadows.

Did she hear the conversation, or notice what was going on about her? Floretta Paxton said that Mrs. Fenton acted as if she sat there to watch some one; and was Floretta right? Mrs. Fenton's actions certainly seemed strange day after day. She talked little, took slight interest in what was going on about her, and was a mystery to all the other guests.

But what, or whom could she be watching?

Dorothy and Nancy, returning from their walk, saw the group, and also noticed Mrs. Fenton, who always chose to sit apart from the others.

"I'll give my flowers to mamma and Mrs. Vinton," said Dorothy.

"And I'll give mine to Aunt Charlotte and to Mrs. Fenton,—if she wants them," said Nancy, hesitating because it was so hard to guess what might, or might not, please Mrs. Fenton.

Dorothy ran to show her blossoms to her mamma and to Mrs. Vinton, while Nancy, pausing beside Mrs. Fenton's chair, held forth her pretty bouquet, as she said:

"We've just gathered them. Aren't they pretty?"

"Lovely, very lovely," said Mrs. Fenton, with more interest than usual. "I remember picking just such flowers; even the long vines I know are like those I used to see when I was a little girl."

"Would you enjoy some of these? I'd so like to give them to you," Nancy said, and she was surprised at the quick reply.

"I would really prize them, Nancy, and you're a sweet child to give them to me," she said.

Quickly Nancy divided the bouquet, and smiled as she laid the pretty things in Mrs. Fenton's lap.

"I cannot let them wilt, so I will take them at once to my room," said Mrs. Fenton, and Nancy saw her bend to catch their perfume, as she turned toward the hall.

That night, when nearly all the guests had entered the dining-room, Mrs. Fenton came in at the main entrance, and as she sat nearly opposite Mrs. Dainty's party, they noticed that the bodice of her black lace gown was given color by the pretty wildflowers that Nancy had given her. They were the first flowers that she had worn since her arrival.

Nancy smiled with pleasure, and Mrs. Fenton, looking across the table, returned the smile.

Had the gift of simple wildflowers cheered her?

Thus far she had worn only black, but to-night a dull gold slip shimmered through the black lace; and were her eyes brighter?

Nancy thought so, and without knowing why, was glad.

There was a musicale in the evening, and Mrs. Fenton joined Mrs. Dainty and Aunt Charlotte, and seemed to enjoy the conversation, between the numbers of the program.

Once, while she was talking, she laid her hand lightly upon Nancy's shoulder, and Nancy looked up to smile. Aunt Charlotte saw that the lady was more cheerful, and also noticed that she wore Nancy's flowers. The evening passed pleasantly, and Nancy's drowsy words, just before she went to sleep, were:

"I do really think I cheered her."

* * * * *

A few days later Mrs. Dainty invited Mrs. Fenton to be her guest during a drive over a lovely road that neither of them had yet seen. It was said to be one of the most picturesque roads in that section of the country.

Mrs. Fenton accepted, and with Aunt Charlotte and Mrs. Vinton they formed a pleasant party.

Dorothy and Nancy were to drive in their little phaeton, and they felt quite as important as the four ladies in the barouche.

True, Mrs. Dainty owned a handsome span of bays, but was not the pony, Romeo, a beauty?

The road was some distance from the Cleverton, and there were some charming places to be seen on the way, so it happened that the trip, which proved to be most enjoyable, occupied the afternoon.

Mrs. Paxton had a number of letters to write, and Floretta, feeling very lonely, and wishing that she had some one to play with, climbed into a hammock, and wondered what she might do to amuse herself.

"Every one but me has gone somewhere, and I wish I had," she said, as she gave a smart kick that sent the hammock higher.

"What's the fun of swinging alone?" she grumbled, but there was no one on the piazza to answer her, and she let the hammock sway lazily while she looked down the sunny road, and thought how strange it was that the place seemed so still.

Not a leaf stirred, and Floretta's disgust increased.

"Nothing in sight, not even an old hen," she said, when, way down where the road looked so narrow and distant, a little figure appeared, coming directly toward the Cleverton. She watched the approaching figure, and wondered who it might be.

"'Tisn't any one I know," she thought, "and doesn't she look queer?"

Any one who had ever known Arabella Corryville would also have known that she always looked decidedly odd and strange, and it was Arabella who was marching steadily along the road.

So determined was her tread that one might have thought that there was a band behind her playing martial music to which she was obliged to keep step.

"Well, whoever she is, she's carrying an umbrella, this pleasant day," murmured Floretta; then as she came near, she added:

"And wearing rubbers and a raincoat, as true as I live!"

Arabella was more bundled and wrapped than at first appeared, for, as she came up the gravel walk, Floretta saw that a long veil was closely tied over her hat, and wound about her throat.

From her appearance one might have thought that she expected freezing weather before night.

She walked up on to the piazza, and then stood, for a moment, looking about, as if in search of some one.

It was not politeness that prompted Floretta to speak. It was simply curiosity. She was wild to know who the strange-looking child was, and whom she wished to see.

"Are you looking for some one?" she asked, at the same time slipping from the hammock, and going so close to Arabella that she could peep into the queer little face.



CHAPTER XI

ARABELLA MAKES A CALL

ARABELLA peered at Floretta through her spectacles, and was tempted not to reply, but after a moment's pause she changed her mind.

"I came to see Dorothy Dainty, and Nancy Ferris," she said.

"They're out driving," said Floretta.

"How do you know?" Arabella asked, rudely.

"Because I heard them say they were going, and because I saw them go," was the quick reply.

"It's a long way over here, and now I've got to take the same walk back," said Arabella.

"They're going to be out all the afternoon," said Floretta, "but why don't you sit down, and rest a while before you go back?"

It sounded kind, and Arabella at once seated herself, while Floretta sat near her.

She thought it would be great fun to question this odd child, and there was no one near to check her.

"Aren't you nearly roasted in that raincoat?" she asked.

"Well, I'm not chilly," said Arabella, fixing her sharp eyes upon the other little girl.

"Did you think it was going to rain?" was the next question. "You've rubbers, and umbrella."

Floretta barely managed to hide the fact that she wanted to laugh. Her question seemed so absurd with the blue sky overhead, and the sunshine everywhere.

"I didn't want to wear them," said Arabella, "and I told Aunt Matilda it was too pleasant to rain, but she said you never could tell, and she said, too, that I could wear them, or stay at home, so what could I do?"

"I'd have stayed at home," said Floretta, bluntly. "I wouldn't wear raincoat and rubbers, and lug an umbrella for any Aunt Matilda or Aunt Jemima!"

"Who is Aunt Jemima?" Arabella asked, stupidly.

"I don't know," said Floretta, sharply, "but then, I don't know your Aunt Matilda."

She longed to say that she did not want to, but for once she did not quite dare to say what she thought.

Then there was an awkward pause. Floretta could not think what to say next, while Arabella did not try.

Silence never made her uneasy. She could stare at any one who sat opposite her, for a half-hour, without so much as winking, and it rather amused her if the other person became nervous, and wriggled uneasily beneath her persistent stare. At last Floretta spoke.

"You might take some of those things off," she said; "you won't need them while you stay."

"Aunt Matilda told me not to," said Arabella, "and if I did, it would be just my luck to have her come right by here, and see me with them off. My! Wouldn't she be angry?"

Arabella's eyes dilated as she asked the question.

"Does your Aunt Matilda poke 'round after you like that?" asked Floretta.

"She doesn't ever seem to follow me, but all the same, she's always catching me doing something."

"Then you do risk doing what she tells you not to," said Floretta, with a saucy laugh.

"Look here!" cried Arabella, "I don't know you, but I'm going to tell you something. I can't do one single thing I want to, neither can my papa or mamma. Aunt Matilda is little, and my papa is big. He says he was centre-rush on the college football team, but when Aunt Matilda tells him what to do, he says, 'Yes'm,' and does it. One of our neighbors at home says Aunt Matilda holds the purse-strings, but I don't know what that means. Her purse hasn't any strings on it."

"Well, if it had, I'd cut 'em off," said Floretta, "so she couldn't hold 'em."

"You wouldn't if she lived at your house," said Arabella.

Floretta, in spite of her boldness, was more than half convinced.

"Well,—perhaps I wouldn't," she said. "Why, what are you taking?"

"Pills," said Arabella, counting out six very pink pills from a little bottle, and taking them, then making a horrid face.

"You don't look sick," said Floretta, "but you're taking medicine."

"Aunt Matilda says these are for my color," was the answer.

"You haven't any; you're pale as a sheet," said Floretta.

"That's why I take them," said Arabella, "and look! I've got some green ones I take," and six green pills followed the pink ones.

"Why, what are those for?" gasped Floretta. "Ought you to take two kinds at the same time?"

Arabella, determined to startle her new acquaintance, took a third bottle from her pocket, and swallowed three very large white pills.

She was delighted with the effect that she had produced.

Floretta sprang to her feet, and tried to snatch the bottle, but Arabella had put it in her pocket, and was holding the pocket together.

She narrowed her shrewd little eyes, and smiled broadly.

"Guess you couldn't take all that, and not feel queer!" she said.

"I wouldn't wonder if you felt funny. Do you?" asked Floretta.

"Not yet," said Arabella.

Floretta was getting tired of her caller. She hoped that she hadn't any more kinds of medicine that she could take.

She wished that Dorothy would return and amuse Arabella.

She would have run away from any one else, and rudely left her alone, but there was something so strange about this child that she feared her.

She had a nervous feeling that if she turned to leave her, Arabella might snatch at her, and draw her back. She certainly did look odd.

There was something catlike in the way in which she kept her eyes riveted upon Floretta.

She looked as if, at any moment, she might spring at her!

She was not thinking of doing anything of the sort, however.

The truth was that she did feel just a bit queer.

Was it the three kinds of pills? She could not tell, but she began to feel as if she would be glad if she were at home.

"I guess I'll go now," she said. "I think it must be time."

"What time did your Aunt Matilda tell you to come home?" Floretta asked.

"She said I could stay to dinner if Dorothy asked me, but she doesn't come home, so I guess I won't wait."

"Go to dinner at the Cleverton in that plaid gingham!" thought Floretta, for she had seen the plain little frock beneath the raincoat.



Arabella grasped her big umbrella firmly, and turned, as she went down the steps, to say:

"You may tell Dorothy Dainty that Miss Corryville called."

Floretta giggled.

"And you might tell your Aunt Matilda that you talked with Miss Paxton," she said.

"I will," said Arabella, without a sign of a smile.

"I wonder you don't leave cards," said Floretta, and to her surprise, the queer child put her hand in the pocket of her raincoat, and, without looking at them, offered two cards to Floretta, saying:

"There they are."

Then, without looking back, she marched resolutely down the road. She did not thank Floretta for talking with her while she rested, nor did she say "good-by."

For some moments Floretta stood watching the odd little figure as it tramped down the road, the umbrella, like a huge walking stick, thumping the gravel at every step. She thought Arabella would turn around, but she did not.

One might have thought that she had already forgotten the child with whom she had been talking. When, at last, she disappeared behind a clump of trees that hid the curve of the road, Floretta looked at the two cards in her hand, stared at them in amazement, and then laughed, laughed until her eyes were full of tears.

Who could have helped laughing? One card bore these lines:

JAMES HORTON WORTH, PAINLESS DENTISTRY, 10 TREVOR STREET, MERRIVALE.

While the other, equally interesting, bore this statement:

ALTON JUSTUS MEER, JEWELLER, 90 RUPERT ROAD, MERRIVALE.

"How perfectly funny," cried Floretta. "I'll run up and show them to mamma, and then I'll wait here to give them to Dorothy and Nancy when they come. I wonder if they'll have any choice?"

Dorothy and Nancy felt, as did the older members of the party, that the ride had been the most delightful of any that they had enjoyed since their arrival.

The horses were tossing their manes, and Romeo, as if in imitation, tossed his so that it showed all its silken beauty.

"See him!" cried Dorothy. "He thinks he's as fine as any horse."

"Well, he is as dear as they," said Nancy.

"Oh, yes," said Dorothy, "and dearer."

And when the horses and the pony had been led around to the stable, and the older members of the party had reached the piazza, Dorothy and Nancy, who had paused for a moment to talk, ran up the steps, intending to sit together in a large rocker.

Before they reached the chair, Floretta flew toward them.

"You had a funny caller while you were out driving," she said, with a giggle, "and she was so very fashionable that she left these cards. She told me to tell you that Miss Corryville had called."

"It was Arabella," said Nancy.

"Did she truly say 'Miss?'" Dorothy asked.

"Well, didn't I say so?" Floretta asked rudely; "and I told her to tell her Aunt Matilda that she talked with Miss Paxton, and she said she would. She waited a long time for you to come home, because she said she meant to stay to dinner with you. Say! She had on a calico dress! Wouldn't she have looked gay?"

"It isn't very kind to laugh at any one's clothes," said Dorothy, "and it's not very nice to laugh at other people's friends."

"Pooh!" cried Floretta, "I shall laugh at whoever I please," and she turned and ran up to her room.

But she had laughed once too often! During the ride, Mrs. Fenton had spoken of Floretta's rude ways, and of the day when, upon following Nancy to the dining-room, she had caught the provoking child in the act of mimicking her.

"Your little Nancy was grieved and distressed because she knew that I saw it. What a difference there is in children! The Paxton child is disgusting, while Nancy, who, I have heard, was a little waif, is as gentle as Dorothy, who was born the little daughter of a fine, old family."

Aunt Charlotte and Mrs. Dainty had told Mrs. Fenton something of Nancy's life, and noticed how deeply interested she seemed to be.

Mrs. Paxton had realized that ever since the day that Floretta had told of being caught mimicking Mrs. Fenton for the amusement of the waitresses and maids, Mrs. Fenton had shunned them. She had made desperate efforts to win Mrs. Fenton's friendship, but never very successfully, as she found that her little daughter's silly act had rendered any intimacy quite impossible.

A few days after the ride, Mrs. Fenton did not appear at lunch, or at dinner, and when Mrs. Paxton, with elaborate interest, inquired for her, she learned that the lady had left very early that morning, before any guests were on the piazza to see her depart.

It certainly did seem odd that she should have left, without a word to those whom she had known, but Mrs. Dainty, with her customary good taste, made no comment, and Aunt Charlotte Grayson was equally silent.

Mrs. Paxton did just as one might have expected. She expressed, in a very loud voice, her disgust at being thus pointedly slighted, for so she chose to feel.

"After all my friendliness, I can't see how she could leave the Cleverton without so much as a word to me. Why, I felt almost like a relative, as my name was Fenton before I married!"

"I guess Mrs. Fenton didn't have what you might call a family feeling," said old Mr. Cunningham, which so angered Mrs. Paxton that she politely turned her back.

Two letters arrived at the Cleverton that afternoon, and it would be difficult to say which caused the greater surprise.

Mrs. Paxton told the contents of hers to all who would listen, and there were enough who were curious, to make a good audience.

"TO MRS. CLARA FENTON PAXTON:" it began, refraining from any endearing terms.

"I knew, before I met you, that you and your small daughter were related to my husband, and also knew that he entertained no admiration for you. He left his entire estate to me, and as you were but a distant relative, you could expect no inheritance. However, with a determination to deal fairly with all my kin (I have but three such), I came to the Cleverton to see you and your little daughter, intending, if she proved sweet-tempered and attractive, to will my property to her. She is the only one of the three relatives who bears my husband's name.

"I do not wish to be harsh, but I am forced to admit that I find her to be bold, naturally unkind, and wholly lacking in the grace and courtesy which most children possess, either by training or inheritance.

"I, therefore, have made my will in favor of Nancy Ferris, once a little waif, now a sweet, gentle, and attractive child, whose little acts of courtesy and kindness are fully appreciated by

"Her friend, "CECILIA CULLEN FENTON."

"A most singular woman, to leave her property to a waif, a child of the theatre, and not bequeath so much as a penny to my Floretta, whom any one could see is an aristocrat," said Mrs. Paxton.

"Mrs. Fenton, or anybody else, would need some rather strong glasses to see that!" muttered Mr. Cunningham.

He was a testy old fellow, and he, like other guests of the hotel, had become exceedingly tired of Mrs. Paxton and her unlovely child.

The other letter gave surprise and delight to the two who had shared in the care and training of little Nancy.

"TO MRS. RUDOLPH DAINTY, AND TO MRS. CHARLOTTE GRAYSON,

"DEAR FRIENDS:—" was its greeting, and then followed the story of the writer's visit to the Cleverton, and the statement that her few relatives were too distant to have any valid claim to her estate.

"I was greatly displeased with the two of my kin whom I came to observe, and I will not dwell upon that, but, instead, will take this time to say that Dorothy Dainty and Nancy Ferris, are the two dearest children that it has been my pleasure to know.

"Dorothy's life has been sunny, and Nancy's story, as you told it to me, appealed to me, and I looked with even greater interest at the child who, under your loving care, had blossomed like a lovely flower.

"Dorothy has her parents, and will inherit a fortune. Nancy has no parents, and I know, will be kindly cared for by you, but that fact will not deter me from making a bequest that gives me greatest pleasure.

"I shall leave all of my estate to Nancy Ferris, and I remind her, in some little verses that I enclose, how deeply I have appreciated her many little kindnesses.

TO NANCY

"Dear little girl, I know that you will daily Do loving acts of kindness, and of cheer, Thus urging life to sing its song more gaily And making friendship lasting and more dear.

"I felt your charm, dear child, I saw how sweetly You gave your kindness, with no thought of gain. I give you a reward, and how completely I joy in giving, words cannot explain."



CHAPTER XII

A SERENADE

JACK TIVERTON stood in the lower hall one morning, and appeared as if waiting for some one. In his hand was a short switch that he had cut from a shrub that grew beside the driveway. Often he looked up the staircase, and then, as no one appeared, he would continue to strike at the flies that flew past the doorway.

At last he heard merry voices upon the landing, and then Dorothy and Nancy came hurrying down the stairs.

"Good morning!" they called, but Jack, in his eagerness to ask questions, forgot to return their greeting.

"Say!" he cried, "do you know that Mrs. Paxton and Floretta left this morning before breakfast?"

No, the little girls did not know that.

"Well, they have. I saw them go, and I'm glad. Floretta was fun to play with, but she wasn't fair. She'd get me to do things, and then if we got caught, she'd always say I planned it," said Jack.

Dorothy tried to think of something kind to say of Floretta, but she knew that what Jack said was true. Floretta truly was not in the habit of playing "fair."

"Her mamma said something queer just as she was going off. She was talking to a lady, I don't know what her name is, and Mrs. Paxton said:

"'Well, Dorothy Dainty has always seemed to be fond of Nancy, but now that Nancy is to have a fortune, shell love her a deal more than she ever did before.'"

And now Dorothy spoke, her blue eyes flashing, and her cheeks flushed.

"That's not true!" she cried. "That's not true! I've always loved Nancy, and always will. I'd love her if she had just nothing at all! Nothing could make any difference. I love her all I can. Nancy knows that. Every one knows that."

How keenly she felt Mrs. Paxton's silly speech!

She was indignant that any one should think her love for Nancy so little worth while that fortune could make it stronger.

How could she love Nancy more than she had always loved her?

Nancy threw her arms about her, and drew her closer.

"Don't you mind, Dorothy," she said, "I know how truly you love me. Mrs. Paxton didn't know, because I guess she couldn't understand it. She couldn't love the way you do."

Dorothy smiled through the tears that had filled her eyes.

"There's no one dearer than you, Nancy," she said.

Jack swung his switch at a dragon-fly that flew past the doorway.

"Did you see that darning-needle?" he asked.

"Well," he continued, without waiting for an answer, "I was down the road a few days ago, trying to catch some of those big steel-colored ones in my fly-net. I hadn't seen any one after I left this piazza, but just as I swung my net round to catch the dragon-fly, somebody said: 'Look out, or you'll get bitten!' and I turned round, but no one was in sight. I was just going to swing my net again, when some one giggled, and then I saw a little skinny girl looking at me from between some bushes."

"What was she doing?" Dorothy asked.

"You couldn't guess if you tried for a month!" said Jack.

"She was sitting on a big stone, beside a big puddle that was left there after the shower. She said she was playing she was a frog, and when she stared at me through her glasses, and smiled, no, grinned at me, I couldn't help thinking she looked like one. Say, she had on a green cloak, a regular frog-color."

"It must have been Arabella!" said Nancy.

"I don't know what her name was. I didn't ask her, but while I watched her she hopped off the stone into the puddle with both feet, and cried, 'po-dunk!' just like an old bullfrog. My! Weren't her shoes wet!"

"I wonder what her Aunt Matilda said when she went home with wet feet," said Dorothy.

Without noticing what she said, Jack continued.

"I never saw such a queer girl!" he said, in disgust, "for when I told her dragonflies would never bite, she said: 'They will. They'll sew your eyes, and nose, and mouth up. Po-dunk!' and she hopped back on to the stone, and grinned at me just as she did at first. Say! She made me feel queer to look at her, and I turned and ran away. I wasn't afraid of her, of course, but she did make me feel queer!"

"She'd make any one feel queer," said Nancy as they turned toward the dining-room.

Jack wished that they might have stayed longer in the hall. He had intended to ask them if they knew Arabella, and if she was always doing queer things, but Mrs. Dainty and Aunt Charlotte joined them, and they went in for breakfast.

Mrs. Tiverton, coming in from an early walk, took Jack with her to the other side of the dining-room. He looked across at them, and wondered what they could have told of Arabella if they had had a chance. He decided to question them, whispering softly to himself:

"I'll make them tell me all they know about that funny girl."

For several days he tried to catch Dorothy or Nancy at a time when he could question them.

He chased Dorothy up the long stairway one morning, only to see her disappear into her room. He had not told her that he had wished to talk with her, and she, believing that he was only chasing her for fun, ran from him, laughing as she went.

He found Nancy, a few minutes later, and coaxed her to wait on the landing.

"Now, Nancy," he said, "you've got to tell me something about that queer girl that you and Dorothy know."

"If you mean Arabella," said Nancy, "I don't see what I could tell you, only that she is queer, and you know that now."

"You'll better believe I know it!" cried Jack, "for I met her again yesterday, and guess what she was doing!"

"Oh, I couldn't," said Nancy. "No one ever could guess what Arabella Corryville would do."

"Well, she looked like a witch, and acted like one, too," Jack replied. "It was yesterday that I saw her. I was going across the field, and had nearly reached the wall, when I looked up, and saw her sitting on the top bar of the—the—oh, the place where they take down the bars to let the cattle through."

"I know where you mean," said Nancy, "but why was it strange that she was sitting there?"

"It was what she was doing that was funny," Jack replied, "and because you couldn't guess, I'll tell you.

"She didn't look toward me, though I'm sure she must have heard me coming, for I was just tramping along, and whistling all the way. She was looking up at the clouds, and counting, 'one—two—three—' very slowly, and when I was close behind her, she said:

"'Hush—sh—sh! I'm charming the crows!'

"'How long does it take to do it?' I said, for it sounded like nonsense, and I wanted to hurry. It was almost lunch time.

"'Hush—sh!' she said again. 'There comes one of them now!' and sure enough a big, black crow did come flying right down, and perched on the limb of an old tree near her."

"Why, Jack Tiverton," cried Nancy, "you don't believe Arabella really made him come down, do you?"

"Of course not," cried Jack, "but she wanted me to think so. Say! She said she was saying a charm, and when I asked her what it was, she wouldn't tell me. She said it would spoil the charm to tell it. She looked funny sitting up there on the top rail, and staring at the crows till her eyes watered. She didn't look like a 'charmer.' She looked ever so much more like a scarecrow!"

"Oh, Jack, it's horrid to say that!" cried Nancy, at the same time trying not to let him see how near she was to laughing.

"Well, she did!" Jack insisted, "and you're almost laughing now, Nancy Ferris, and you'd have screamed if you'd seen her roosting there, and calling herself a charmer! Why, that old crow just flopped down there for fun, and when he saw the queer-looking girl, he cawed as if it made him mad, and I didn't blame him. Say! She had a shoe on one foot, and a slipper on the other. Her apron was put on back-side-to, and she had a hen's feather in each hand, and she waved them up and down while she mumbled some kind of a verse. She said her clothes were put on that way to help the charm. Isn't she a ninny?"

Just at that moment, before Nancy could reply, Mrs. Tiverton called Jack, and Nancy ran to tell the story of Arabella's latest freak to Dorothy.

* * * * *

One afternoon, a number of little girls were sitting on the piazza at the Cleverton, and their merry voices attracted Jack Tiverton, who glanced up from the book that he was reading, and then, because he was curious to know what so interested them, crossed the piazza, and joined the group.

Dorothy and Nancy, in the big hammock, held the book of fairy tales, Flossie Barnet sat near them, while the others, all little guests at the hotel, sat upon the railing, or in the large rockers that stood near.

Jack joined the row perched upon the railing.

"Tell a fellow what you are all talking about, will you? Will you, please, I mean?" he asked.

"Dorothy Dainty has been reading us a lovely story," said a little girl, whose merry eyes showed that she had enjoyed it.

"What's it about?" Jack asked, and then, "Oh, fairy tales!" he said.

"Don't you like fairy tales?" Flossie questioned, looking up at him.

No one liked to differ with dear little Flossie, least of all, Jack Tiverton.

"Oh, I like them some," he said, awkwardly, "but,—are there any stories about bandits or pirates in that book?"

"Oh, no," they cried, in a laughing chorus, "and there aren't any wild Indians in it, either."

"I don't care much about Indian stories," Jack replied, "but I do like to read about pirates."

"But just hear what this one was about," said Nancy.

"The wandering prince had, for years, been searching for a lovely princess, who should look like a beautiful picture that hung in his father's palace. One day he came to a castle where the people told him a handsome princess was imprisoned, and he asked why she was kept there. They told him that she was enchanted, and that some day, a wandering prince would sing beneath her window, and then the spell would be broken, and she would be free."

Jack was interested.

"But s'posing he couldn't sing?" he asked.

"Oh, a prince could surely sing!" said Flossie.

"And p'raps he could sing under her window, if he couldn't anywhere else," ventured a dreamy-eyed little girl who sat near Dorothy.

"And how would he know what to sing?" a cheery voice questioned, and a pair of merry eyes peered over the piazza railing.

"Oh, Uncle Harry!" cried Flossie, "what difference would it make?"

"All the difference in the world," declared Uncle Harry, "for while the proper melody would set the princess free, how are we to know that the wrong melody might not chain her closer than before!"

"Why, the story doesn't say that," said Nancy.

"Perhaps not, but the prince took an awful risk when he chose what to sing," declared Uncle Harry.

"You're laughing when you say it," said Dorothy.

"He is," agreed Flossie, "and what he says is funny, but I know this: I'd love to hear some one singing under my window!"

Some ladies, who sat near enough to hear the conversation, were amused at the children's enthusiasm, and at Uncle Harry's evident interest.

"The prince had his guitar slung over his shoulder by a ribbon," said Dorothy. "See the picture," and she slipped from the hammock, and offered the book that he might see the illustration.

"I'm glad he carried his guitar instead of a banjo," he said.

"Why are you glad of that?" Flossie asked.

"Oh, because I really am, in fact, I might even say I am delighted," he replied.

"I do believe he intends to serenade those children," said a handsome woman, to her friend who sat beside her; "he is a brilliant man, and one who is blessed with many talents, and one of his greatest charms is his love of children. He will go far out of his way to afford them a bit of fun."

That evening, when nearly every one had left the piazza, and all of the children were in their rooms, the soft twanging of guitar strings floated up toward Flossie's window.

She was not yet asleep, and she sat up in bed, and listened.

Yes, it was a guitar! Was it Uncle Harry's?

A little prelude softly played, drew her toward the window.

She crept closer, and peeped out. Yes, there he was, looking right up toward her window.

Now his fine voice was softly singing, and Flossie held her breath.

"Under thy window, my little lady, Under thy window, Flossie dear, Here where the moonbeams softly flicker, Sing I this song that you may hear.

"Moonlight, and starlight weave enchantment, Yet shall my song your freedom bring, You shall be happy little lady, Give me your love for the song I sing."

"Oh, Uncle Harry, you have it now!" cried Flossie. "I love you, when you're singing, and all the time."

"I know that, dear little girl, but I must have my fun, so I came here to sing the song I made for you," he said gently.

"Well, you're dear," she cried, "and I'll throw you a kiss," and she did, reaching far out of the window that he might surely see her.

"I caught it!" he cried, and as he turned toward the porch, she heard him softly strumming the prelude again.

Others had heard the pretty song, for Dorothy and Nancy had a room next to Flossie's.

The next morning he was coaxed and teased to sing the song again, but he declared that he could only sing it in the moonlight, that the daylight would spoil its effect.

The sunny days sped on wings, and soon the guests began to think of turning homeward.

Mrs. Dainty's party and the Barnets were to leave the hotel at the same time, and Dorothy, Nancy, and Flossie were delighted that they were to take the return trip together.

They were talking of the pleasures that they were looking forward to, and telling of some delightful events that were already planned, when Jack Tiverton gave them a genuine surprise.

"Mamma has just told me something fine," he said, "and I ran right down to tell it to you."

"Oh, tell it quick!" said Flossie.

"We're going to live in Merrivale, and we'll be there soon after we leave here. I'm glad. Are you, all of you?" he asked.

"Of course we're glad," said Dorothy and Nancy; and Flossie hastened to add:

"Every one of us is glad."

There were bright days, and many pleasures in store for the little friends, and those who would like also to enjoy them, and to know what happened during the winter, may read of all this in

"Dorothy Dainty's Holidays."



THE DOROTHY DAINTY SERIES

By AMY BROOKS

* * * * *

Large 12mo Cloth Illustrated by the Author

Price, $1.00 each



Dorothy Dainty Dorothy's Playmates Dorothy Dainty at School Dorothy Dainty at the Shore Dorothy Dainty in the City Dorothy Dainty at Home Dorothy Dainty's Gay Times Dorothy Dainty in the Country Dorothy Dainty's Winter Dorothy Dainty in the Mountains Dorothy Dainty's Holidays Dorothy Dainty's Vacation

"LITTLE DOROTHY DAINTY is one of the most generous-hearted of children. Selfishness is not at all a trait of hers, and she knows the value of making sunshine, not alone in her own heart, but for her neighborhood and friends."—Boston Courier.

"DOROTHY DAINTY, a little girl, the only child of wealthy parents, is an exceedingly interesting character, and her earnest and interesting life is full of action and suitable adventure."—Pittsburg Christian Advocate.

"No finer little lady than DOROTHY DAINTY was ever placed in a book for children."—Teachers' Journal, Pittsburg.



"MISS BROOKS is a popular writer for the very little folks who can read. She has an immense sympathy for the children, and her stories never fail to be amusing."—Rochester (N.Y.) Herald.

* * * * *

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON



THE PRUE BOOKS

By AMY BROOKS

Illustrated by the Author 12mo Cloth Price, $1.00 each

* * * * *



CUNNING little Prue, one of the most winsome little girls ever "put in a book," has already been met in another series where she gave no small part of the interest. She well deserved books of her own for little girls of her age, and they are now ready with everything in the way of large, clear type, and Miss Brooks's best pictures and her pleasing cover designs to make them attractive.

Little Sister Prue Prue at School Prue's Playmates Prue's Merry Times Prue's Little Friends Prue's Jolly Winter



"Miss Brooks always brings out the best ways of acting and living and provides a good deal of humor in her original country characters.—Watchman, Boston.

"Few writers have ever possessed the faculty of reaching the hearts and holding the interest of little girl readers to the extent Miss Brooks has."—Kennebec Journal, Augusta, Me.

"To know Prue is to love her, for no more winsome little girl was ever put in a book, and her keen wit and unexpected drolleries make her doubly attractive."—Kindergarten Magazine.

* * * * *

For sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON



THE RANDY BOOKS

By AMY BROOKS

12mo CLOTH ARTISTIC COVER DESIGN IN GOLD AND COLORS ILLUSTRATED BY THE AUTHOR PRICE $1.00 EACH



The progress of the "Randy Books" has been one continual triumph over the hearts of girls of all ages, for dear little fun-loving sister Prue is almost as much a central figure as Randy, growing toward womanhood with each book. The sterling good sense and simple naturalness of Randy, and the total absence of slang and viciousness, make these books in the highest degree commendable, while abundant life is supplied by the doings of merry friends, and there is rich humor in the droll rural characters.

Randy's Summer Randy's Winter Randy and Her Friends Randy and Prue Randy's Good Times Randy's Luck Randy's Loyalty Randy's Prince



"The Randy Books are among the very choicest books for young people to make a beginning with." —Boston Courier.

"The Randy Books of Amy Brooks have had a deserved popularity among young girls. They are wholesome and moral without being goody-goody." —Chicago Post.

* * * * *

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON



Only Dollie

By NINA RHOADES Illustrated by Bertha Davidson Square 12mo Cloth $1.00



THIS is a brightly written story of a girl of twelve, who, when the mystery of her birth is solved, like Cinderella, passes from drudgery to better circumstances. There is nothing strained or unnatural at any point. All descriptions or portrayals of character are life-like, and the book has an indescribable appealing quality which wins sympathy and secures success.

"It is delightful reading at all times."—Cedar Rapids (Ia.) Republican.

"It is well written, the story runs smoothly, the idea is good, and it is handled with ability.—Chicago Journal.



The Little Girl Next Door

By NINA RHOADES Large 12mo Cloth Illustrated by Bertha Davidson $1.00

A DELIGHTFUL story of true and genuine friendship between an impulsive little girl in a fine New York home and a little blind girl in an apartment next door. The little girl's determination to cultivate the acquaintance, begun out of the window during a rainy day, triumphs over the barriers of caste, and the little blind girl proves to be in every way a worthy companion. Later a mystery of birth is cleared up, and the little blind girl proves to be of gentle birth as well as of gentle manners.



Winifred's Neighbors

By NINA RHOADES Illustrated by Bertha G. Davidson Large 12mo Cloth $1.00



LITTLE Winifred's efforts to find some children of whom she reads in a book lead to the acquaintance of a neighbor of the same name, and this acquaintance proves of the greatest importance to Winifred's own family. Through it all she is just such a little girl as other girls ought to know, and the story will hold the interest of all ages.

* * * * *

For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD Co., BOSTON



The Children on the Top Floor

By NINA RHOADES Large 12mo Cloth Illustrated by Bertha Davidson $1.00



IN this book little Winifred Hamilton, the child heroine of "Winifred's Neighbors," reappears, living in the second of the four stories of a New York apartment house. On the top floor are two very interesting children, Betty, a little older than Winifred, who is now ten, and Jack, a brave little cripple, who is a year younger. In the end comes a glad reunion, and also other good fortune for crippled Jack, and Winifred's kind little heart has once more indirectly caused great happiness to others.



How Barbara Kept Her Promise

By NINA RHOADES Large 12mo Cloth Illustrated by Bertha Davidson $1.00

TWO orphan sisters, Barbara, aged twelve, and little Hazel, who is "only eight," are sent from their early home in London to their mother's family in New York. Faithful Barbara has promised her father that she will take care of pretty, petted, mischievous Hazel, and how she tries to do this, even in the face of great difficulties, forms the story which has the happy ending which Miss Rhoades wisely gives to all her stories.



Little Miss Rosamond

By NINA RHOADES Illustrated by Bertha G. Davidson Large 12mo Cloth $1.00



ROSAMOND lives in Richmond, Va., with her big brother, who cannot give her all the comfort that she needs in the trying hot weather, and she goes to the seaside cottage of an uncle whose home is in New York. Here she meets Gladys and Joy, so well known in a previous book, "The Little Girl Next Door," and after some complications are straightened out, bringing Rosamond's honesty and kindness of heart into prominence, all are made very happy.

* * * * *

For sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON



"Brick House Books"

By NINA RHOADES

Cloth 12 mo Illustrated $1.00 each

* * * * *

Priscilla of the Doll Shop



THE "Brick House Books," as they are called from their well-known cover designs, are eagerly sought by children all over the country. There are three good stories in this book, instead of one, and it is hard to say which little girls, and boys, too, for that matter, will like the best.

Brave Little Peggy

PEGGY comes from California to New Jersey to live with a brother and sister whom she has not known since very early childhood. She is so democratic in her social ideas that many amusing scenes occur, and it is hard for her to understand many things that she must learn. But her good heart carries her through, and her conscientiousness and moral courage win affection and happiness.

The Other Sylvia



EIGHT-year-old Sylvia learns that girls who are "Kings' Daughters" pledge themselves to some kind act or service, and that one little girl named Mary has taken it upon herself to be helpful to all the Marys of her acquaintance. This is such an interesting way of doing good that she adopts it in spite of her unusual name, and really finds not only "the other Sylvia," but great happiness.

* * * * *

For sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON

* * * * *

Transcriber's Notes:

Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

THE END